even on the witness list you turned over at the start of the case, Ms. Enright,” I said, hoping my shock showed slightly less than hers. “I wouldn’t get too carried away with accusations yet. Ask the bishop which one of them initiated the encounter.”
“I intend to.”
“And you, Ms. Cooper,” Keets said. “You’ll inquire the same of Mr. Battaglia, won’t you?”
He banged his gavel on the bench and frowned at all of us. “Two o’clock. We’ll resume at two o’clock sharp.”
NINE
“WHO’S with him, Rose?” I asked, skipping the niceties.
“Pat came down from court twenty minutes ago, and he called in Brenda Whitney,” she said, referring to the head of Battaglia’s public relations office. “They’re working on a press release for later today.”
“It’s urgent. May I go in? You don’t need to buzz him.”
I had passed her desk and was opening Battaglia’s door, startling the threesome as they huddled over the conference table at the far end of the room.
“You finish with the good bishop?” Battaglia asked, grinning broadly as he sucked on what was likely his third cigar of the day.
“I figured he’d stop by to tell you himself. Maybe take you to lunch.”
My old friend Brenda realized immediately that she was caught in the crossfire. I was trying to keep my tone appropriate but finding it difficult.
“Skipping lunch. Too much to get done.”
“That’s not my point, Paul. Sounds like Deegan was calling the shots.”
“You’re mistaken, Alexandra. Badly mistaken.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog in this fight. Are you on Koslawski’s team?”
Brenda picked up her pad and started away from the table. “I’ll come back later, Boss.”
“Don’t leave, Brenda. I’ve got no secrets from you. We’ll need Alexandra for this, too.”
He usually had secrets from everyone. This time, he didn’t want to be alone in the room with me. He didn’t want to have a private conversation or a chance for me to question him.
“I gather you know Deegan?” I asked.
Pat McKinney walked over to the bookshelf and busied himself in the first volume of the Penal Law. He liked nothing better than an argument that might distance me from the district attorney’s favor.
“We’ve met many times, but fortunately never in the confessional,” he said, laughing at what he must have thought was a joke. “Cool down and sit down, Alexandra. You here about last night?”
“I’m here because a key defense witness just told the court that he’d been talking to you about the case. Judge Keets asked me to get the details on that.”
That comment erased Battaglia’s smile. He removed the cigar from his lips. “You tell the judge to invite me to court if he wants to ask me questions. I don’t need an interpreter, even if it’s you, young lady. I’ve got ten thousand cases pending in the office at any given time. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry in town wants a favor. I can’t remember each person I talk to. Goes in one ear and out the other. Where’s Chapman?”
“At the morgue, I expect. I haven’t been back to my office yet. I came straight here from the courtroom.”
McKinney turned on a dime. “You haven’t spoken with Mike?”
“In the middle of my cross, Pat? You saw what I’ve been doing this morning.”
“Then maybe you haven’t heard. The victim on the church steps has been ID’d,” he said.
“They’ve found her head?” I asked, adrenaline kicking in to override annoyance.
“Turns out the fingertips were all they needed.” Battaglia took the reins, glad to be in charge of breaking news. “Naomi Gersh. Thirty-four years old. Have I got that right, Brenda?”
“Yes, Boss.”
“What am I missing?” I asked. “DNA? Something in the databank that identified her?”
“Simpler than that, Alexandra. Seems Ms. Gersh had an arrest record.”
“Here?” I asked, and Brenda nodded. “What for?”
“Two collars,” Pat McKinney said, holding up the first volume of the Penal Law. “Both times for OGA.”
Obstructing governmental administration—usually an action that interfered with a law enforcement function and made the arrestee unpopular with the cops.
“We’re pulling up the court papers for you,” Battaglia said. “Get to work on this, pronto. Leave the Koslawski business to Mr. Donner. You’re off that case.”
“I’m what?”
The district attorney ignored me, and Pat McKinney simply smirked. I bit my lip to stop the venom from spurting out and left the inner sanctum as abruptly as I had entered.
“Mike called,” Laura Wilkie said as I stormed into my office. “I’ll get him on the line while you take some deep breaths. You look wild.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“The other messages can wait,”